"As long as that lump was on my tail," resumed the Bird, "anybody could catch me, and send me anywhere. And nobody ever seemed to want to take the horrid load off—with salt so cheap."
"Did you do errands for my fath-er?"
Her father answered. "Messages and messages and messages," he murmured wearily. (There was a rustle, as of paper.) "Mostly financial," He sighed.
"Sometimes my work has eased up a trifle," went on the Bird, more cheerily; "that's when They hired Jack Robinson, because he's so quick."
"Oh, yes, you worked for They," said Gwendolyn. "Please, who are They? And what do They look like? And how many are there of 'em?"
Ahead was a bend in the road. He pointed it out with his bill. "You know," said he, "it's just as good to turn a corner as a stone. For there They are now!" He gave an important bounce.
She rounded the bend on tiptoe. But when she caught sight of They, it seemed as if she had seen them many times before. They were two in number, and wore top hats, and plum-covered coats with black piping. They were standing in the middle of the road, facing each other. About their feet fluttered dingy feathers. And between them was a half-plucked crow, which They were picking.
Once she had wanted to thank They for the pocket in the new dress. Now she felt as if it would be ridiculous to mention patch-pockets to such stately personages. So, leaving her father, she advanced modestly and curtsied.
"How do you do, They," she began. "I'm glad to meet you."
They stared at her without replying. They were alike in face as well as in dress; even in their haughty expression of countenance.